Unconquered (27 page)

“You can do it, Jon. I will tell you what you need to know. We do not have to return to London until after the New Year, so you’ll be safe here.”

“What about your sister and her husband? We can tell them.”

“No. The fewer people who know you are taking Jared’s place, the safer he will be. Besides, if you can fool Amanda and Adrian, then you’ll know you can fool anyone.” She cocked her head to one side, then flung herself into his startled arms. “Kiss me! Quickly!” She yanked his dark head down to hers as the bedroom door swung open. Perkins stopped dead, her eyes wide at the intertwined bodies sprawled across the bed. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh!” The two people moved apart and Perkins sighed with relief. “M’lord! You’re back!”

“Indeed, Perky,” he drawed lazily, “and I see you’ve forgotten how to knock. We’ll ring when we want you.” He turned back to Miranda, his lips taking fierce possession of hers. The door closed, but Jonathan Dunham did not release the woman in his arms. His mouth, gentle now, tasted deeply of hers, and only when he became aware that she was trembling and tasted the
salty tears sliding down her cheeks, did he release her. “Dammit, Miranda, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

He saw the sadness in her face, and he gathered her tenderly in his arms. “I have been so wrapped up in my own grief I never stopped to think how terribly you must miss him.” He held her close and rocked her as if she were a child.

After a few minutes she said softly, “You kiss differently.” Jonathan laughed. “We’ve been told that before,” he said. Then, “This will not happen again, Miranda, I promise you. I apologize for losing my head and offending you. Will you forgive me, my dear?”

“You did not offend me, Jon. I am only sorry I am not Charity. You were not kissing me, but her, and I understand. Had she died of a lingering illness you might have had the opportunity to say goodbye. But she died suddenly, and you had no chance to bid her farewell. It hurts. I know it does.”

“You’re very wise for one so young. I begin to understand now why Jared loves you so much,” he replied.

“I think we should ring for Perky now, Jon. How did you know her nickname?”

“Lord Palmerston told me. Lord Palmerston is always most efficient. By the way, I’ve brought one of his men along as my valet. We’re going to say that Mitchum received a better offer from another gentleman, and that Connors is taking his place.”

“Very well.” She extricated herself from his arms and drew on the bellpull. “I’ll order another down quilt tonight. We’ll roll it up into a tube and place it between us for a bundling board.”

“I can sleep on your chaise,” he said.

“Your feet would hang over,” she said, “and the floor is too cold. Don’t be afraid, Jon,” she teased, “I’ll not seduce you.” She rose from the bed to sit down at her dressing table and brush her long hair.

There was a knock on the door, and Perkins entered the room again, her tray now set for two. “Good morning, m’lord, m’lady.” She set the tray down on the fireside table. “Connors wants to know if you’d like a bath, m’lord. I’m sorry to learn Mitchum has left us.”

“Tell Connors I’ll have my bath after breakfast.”

“Very good, sir.” Perkins curtseyed and left the room.

Jonathan went to the tray and began lifting lids from the dishes. “Good Lord, kippers!” he shuddered.

“Jared loves kippers,” she said.

“I detest them.”

“You’ll have to learn to eat them, Jon. Also, you’ve almost got Jared’s voice, but you do have a slight New England twang. Soften it.”

She offered him other bits of advice over the next few weeks, and soon he felt his own personality slipping into the background as he became more Jared and less himself.

Amanda and her husband never suspected the deception. Jonathan was uncomfortable with the role at first, but Miranda made it easy for him by treating him with the same mixture of easy affection and spunky independence with which she treated Jared. It was good for him. The pain of Charity’s loss began to ease a little. And as it did, the man in him began to awaken again.

Jonathan and Miranda enjoyed themselves. Miranda liked the outdoors, and rode daily except in the vilest weather. Away from Swynford Hall, free of listening ears, they were able to talk freely. Miranda learned about Jared’s unhappy childhood, and how the wisdom and generosity of his Grandmother Lightbody had freed him from their implacable Puritan father. “I have never seen him show any gentle emotion,” said Jon, “until her death. At her funeral, he wept like a child.”

The dowager Lady Swynford returned from Brighton, and was totally taken in by Jonathan Dunham. “Your husband,” she told Miranda, “has the most exquisite manners! But then I’ve always said so. He’s a charming devil, my dear. Simply charming!”

Though the weather was unseasonably mild, Christmas was coming, and Amanda and Adrian had been married nearly six months. On December 6, Lord and Lady Swynford held a dinner in honor of Lord and Lady Dunham’s first anniversary. It was the first time they had entertained since their marriage, and there was to be dancing afterward. The premier guest was to be Amanda’s rejected suitor, the Duke of Whitley.

Darius Edmund was close to forty. He was tall, with ash-brown hair, fair skin, and bright turquoise eyes. His dress and manner were elegantly subdued. The Duke of Whitley had been quite taken with Amanda, for Darius Edmund collected beautiful
things. He had been married twice previously. Both wives, although exquisitely lovely and of flawless lineage, had been fragile and both had died miscarrying his children.

Amanda had taken his fancy, and he had done her the honor of offering for her despite her unfortunate nationality. To his intense mortification, he had been rejected in favor of a minor baronet. He had swallowed his bitter disappointment with as good a grace as he could muster, relieved that no one outside his own family knew of his offer to the little Yankee. Her family was, he sighed with relief, extremely discreet, and had not trumpeted about his acute embarrassment. It was therefore possible for Darius to accept the Swynfords’ invitation. This pleased him, for he was frankly curious to see Lady Swynford’s twin. For the life of him, he could not remember her, but she had sent his younger brother, Kit, into rhapsodies. “A rare beauty,” Kit had said, “and intelligent too!”

As Darius Edmund stood in the receiving line waiting to greet his host and hostess, and their guests of honor, his eyes swept over the lady in question. Why had he not noticed her before? She was absolutely magnificent, and he didn’t try to hide his admiration when he raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Lady Dunham,” he murmured, “I am devastated to find what a fool I’ve been. You will, of course, promise me a dance, and be my supper partner.”

“You honor me, my lord duke,” she said coolly. “A dance, of course, but as for supper, I cannot promise. I have the third waltz free.”

“I must be satisfied with that, m’lady, but be warned that I shall try and convince you to sup with me,” he replied.

“I shall certainly be on my guard,” she smiled.

Darius Edmund took himself off to a corner where he could gaze at Lady Dunham. Her gown had a violet silk underlining, overlaid with sheer lavender shot silk. The hem and the edge of the puffed sleeves were embroidered in a gold classic Greek scroll design. The neckline was quite fashionably low, and the Duke of Whitley admired Lady Dunham’s lovely bosom. Fastened around her neck was an ornate necklace of amethysts interspersed with perfect Indian Ocean pearls, all in yellow gold. The stones were oval except for the center one, which was shaped like a star. There were matching earrings and a bracelet
and star-shaped ring. The most delightful touch, however, was the two purple amethyst stars in her hair.

Her hair. The duke sighed with pleasure. The pale silver-gilt cap was parted in the center and knotted into a chignon at the nape of her graceful neck. He wondered what it would look like loose and flowing. A woman’s hair was indeed her crowning glory, and the duke did not like the short styles currently in vogue.

“Darius, dear boy!”

Annoyed, he turned to face the plump, beaming, turbaned Lady Grantham, a friend of his mother’s. He smiled and raised her hand to his lips, murmuring a greeting.

“How fortunate to find you alone,” chortled Lady Grantham. “Come along now, dear boy. I want you to meet my niece who’s visiting me before her first season in London.”

Good God, he thought irritably, a chit from the schoolroom. But there was no help for it. The third waltz could not come quickly enough for him. When it did, he eagerly swept Lady Dunham into his arms and out onto the floor.

Miranda laughed breathlessly. “Heavens, Your Grace! Is such obvious relief polite?”

“I don’t have to be polite,” he said. “I am Whitley, one of the oldest titles in England. God, madam, but you’re ravishing! Why did I not offer for you last year?”

“Probably because you didn’t see me,” she replied gaily.

“I must have been blind,” he said, shaking his head.

They chatted easily and soon, thinking of the man who ought to be dancing with her, self-pity welled up in Miranda. It gave way seconds later to anger. This was her first wedding anniversary, and instead of being at home on Wyndsong celebrating with the man she loved, she was dancing in an English ballroom with an amorous duke while her brother-in-law played her husband. Suddenly she felt wickedly reckless. If Jared felt the damned Anglo-American alliance was more important than their marriage, then why should she be a prim and proper wife? Who knew what Jared was doing at the Russian court?

The dance came to an end and, tucking her hand through the duke’s arm, she said, “I have decided to allow you to be my supper partner, Your Grace.”

“I am honored,” he murmured, kissing her lavender-gloved hand before turning her over to her next partner.

As Miranda’s anger increased she became gaily flirtatious. She danced the last dance before supper with Jonathan, and was amused to find him disapproving. “You have practically every young man, married or not, panting after you, madam!”

“You are not my husband,” she said low. “What difference should it make to you?”

“As far as everyone is concerned, I am Jared,” he hissed at her.

“Go to Hell, darling!”

“By God, Miranda, now I know why Jared calls you wildcat. Behave yourself, or I shall make your excuses.”

She glared at him, infuriated, and his arm tightened around her waist. “I hate you!” she said through clenched teeth. “I hate you for not being Jared! Jared should be here with me now, but he is in St. Petersburg.”

“Don’t,” he said, understanding her anger. “Don’t, my dear. It cannot be helped, and I know my brother. He is as lonely as you are right now.”

The dance ended, and the duke was instantly there to claim her for supper. The two men bowed to one another.

“Your Grace.”

“M’lord, I am delighted to have your beautiful wife’s company for supper. If only I might find such a lovely lady to make my duchess. Beauty, intelligence, and wit are a rare combination.”

“Indeed, Your grace. I am most fortunate,” said Jon, bowing again and walking away.

The Swynford dining room was a temple of gluttony that evening. The long mahogany table was covered by a white Irish damask cloth with a floral basket design. Marching down the table in a neat row were six six-armed silver candelabra with cream-colored beeswax candles. Between the candelabra were five floral arrangements of pink, red, and white hothouse roses with greenery and holly. The center arrangement was a large silver basket. The vast buffet consisted of two great sides of beef roasted in rock salt to keep in all the juices. They were placed at either end of the table. There were four whole legs of lamb stuck with sprigs of rosemary all over, two whole suckling pigs with
apples in their mouths, clove-studded pink hams, roast geese stuffed with fruit, huge Scots salmon
en gelée
, sturgeon, oysters, lobsters, and platters of fried sole. There were side dishes of jugged hare, stewed eels, stewed carp, pigeon pâté, oval Wedgwood plates of partridges and quail, marrow pudding, Brussels sprouts, miniature potato soufflés, apple and apricot fritters, and several large silver bowls of lettuce, scallions, and radishes.

On the long, mahogany sideboard were the desserts, footed silver plates of almond cheesecakes, tortes, fruit tarts, great bowls of custard, fruitcakes; pears covered in meringue, baked apples, and layer cakes filled with mocha cream. Tiered silver cake trays held petits fours covered with pink, green, and white sugar icing.

Miranda ate just a slice of rare beef, some salad, and two miniature potato soufflés, but Darius’s plate was piled high with beef, suckling pig, a quail, marrow pudding, Brussels sprouts, apricot fritters, and a small lobster. She watched, amazed, as he ate it all, and then sampled three of the desserts to her one. He also drank a great deal of champagne, but here she kept pace with him, for her anger had not abated one whit. The champagne went to her head, and she giggled tipsily as the duke flirted with her. Desire began to inflame him. If he could not have her to wife, what an exquisite mistress she would make!

“Let us walk in the conservatory, my dear,” he murmured to her. “I hear your brother-in-law’s rose trees are without peer.”

“So I am told,” she said, rising unsteadily. “Ohh, I’m afraid, sir that I am somewhat tipsy from the champagne.”

He bent to kiss her bare shoulder. “Only a little, my angel. Come now, a walk will do you good.”

They moved from the dining salon through the grand salon and into the glassed-in conservatory. Miranda’s legs were leaden, her head whirling. The warm, humid atmosphere of the conservatory weakened her, but she liked the feel of his arm around her. It had been so long since Jared had left her. Here it was her first wedding anniversary and she had no one!

Darius Edmund led Miranda deep into the miniature jungle, seating her on a delicate white wrought-iron bench. The still air was heavy with the scent of roses, gardenias, and lilies, and she was beginning to feel quite faint.

“I am totally enchanted by you,” Darius Edmund said in a
deep, intense voice. “You are exquisite, lovelier than any woman I have ever known. I will be frank with you, Miranda, for I understand that Americans prefer directness. I want you to be my mistress.” Even before she comprehended, the Duke of Whitley was kissing her. Drawing her lavender silk gown down over her shoulders, his lips eagerly sought her young breasts. “Ah, my darling, I adore you!”